Thursday, November 25, 2010

Imperceptible Holy Day

The slow day of a holiday, restful
but stressful for the responsible.
Dire gathering in days prior of presence
and presents are required.
The gift of plates full of feasts,
often a finale sitting at the end table.

The babies and ladies of tradition
swoon as men swagger in swath.
In a family of rendition, members
know to clean their plates.
The written tablet of customs,
joint in characteristics for God.

Adult fellowship in reserved remarks
of the Cross, as babies crawl across
the floor of the converted by
revolutionary revelations acquired from loss.
Shifting votes in transient silence
as the Lord and world quilters off balance.

The complexity of dexterity,
in regards to the nationals for today,
sits at a dinner with the familiar,
for family is what they made and gave.
The rising cups’ ovation, high above in praise
for the safe return for a better way.

Civility supposes if a neighbor, is a stranger
the hand reaches out to shake them.
If the corner is an owner of the children’s
propensity for order, then circumvent
and circumspect to give them what they think,
fairness plus equality in level distribution.

A person in fashion returns to compound
the passion of early youthful beginnings.
Praise, grace and gratitude creates
and challenges attitudes for traditions,
in alias as holidays reveal nooks in hearts
of origin, all sit still for quick momentum.

For now, for this day is restful to peaceful
while we speak of humane space and humanity.
Give thanks for the highest and the mighty
for devoted spirits to greet in solidarity.
Gratitude for the good in mankind as
the hands reach to touch cultivated dualities.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Purveyors of Trust

Reminiscing soldiers of past fortunes absconded by present presence
caught in concocted fabrication, restless like bone-filled calumniation.
The spirit is slant with comprehension in the rape of innocence, lost in transit
while the solidity of integrity and identity slid across the hands of time. 

The brotherhood of verisimilitude abated to falsehood
as the ranks of corruption ruptured a gratuitous and benign land.
The residue of restitute rests in the realities of the vehemently solemn
learning to rectify an elapse, in prior antiquities for proper future passing. 

Raucous indignation raised a sleeping nation as the civility of rights
rumbled in the Bronx and the warfare of streets battled
like crusts of bread, cut off from the value of a whole brick.
Such a heavy loaf led the heaps into cuffs linked to the aristocratic.

A synchronic and diplomatic democracy became the identity of many
while infringement was just beginning as class dollars left the weak smaller.
Sentiment of the world class commitment to inheritance of work
equivalent to the existence of common feats and communal citizens.

Feet’s were stepped upon by the prudent intellect of the sycophants
who slaved for the psychopaths of these days, for fear of loose change
culminates into hoarding countrywide riches, squandering in depleting possessions.
The essence of a psychological globe in hostage to capital, not spiritual lessons. 

The trick of fools within numbers, results in murders that asunder generations. 
The delineation of the depletion of sound, sense and strength reinforces
the character of concern and compassion to be inclined to implement fortitude
with purpose to hide underground while reserved bravery pitches its own sound.

Although, zest rests with zealots, the signs of crime and crass crookedness
and the demoralization, degradation and detention of unscrupulous decadence
demands a recount in consumerist pews of worship, the world wobbles in unrest.
Rise to call upon the prudent purveyors of truth to become endwise holders of trust.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Redefining Classical Approach to Poetry

I have generally written for healing purposes and while I love to rearrange thoughts with words, somewhat like a large touch screen in the mind, shifting and moving words in and out, according to need and want, I find that I must return to classic forms and understand what it takes to venture into true poems of the past.  Here's the first link I've found that gives definitions for understanding poetry @ PoemofQuotes titled 51 Types of Poetry - All Different Forms.

Another great site for a list of great poets @  

Wax Poetry

In lew of how I choose to write, I have found a fairly accurate term for the style of my poems.  They rest in an ancient concept known as wax poetic.  The Phrase Finder has the following (repasted and copied):


Speak in an increasingly enthusiastic and poetic manner.


Wax and wane'Waxing poetic' has nothing to do with bees, candles, or polishing cars. The verb 'to wax' is 'to grow'; the opposite of 'to wane', which is 'to decrease'. Grow and decrease have largely superseded the archaic terms wax and wane in almost all modern usages, apart from the waxing and waning of the moon. The other remaining contemporary uses of 'wax' with the meaning of 'grow', survive in various expressions like 'wax poetic' and 'wax lyrical'. These are often explained as deriving from the imagery of the waxing of the moon. In fact, the word is extremely ancient and was used to mean grow in many contexts prior to it being used to describe the monthly increase in size of the visible moon. King Alfred, in the translation of Pope Gregory's Pastoral Care, which he commissioned in AD 897, used the Old English version of the word - 'weaxan'.
There are numerous examples of the use of 'wax', meaning 'grow', in mediaeval texts. For example, The Geneva Bible, 1560, inDeuteronomy 32:15:
"But he that shulde haue bene vpright, when he waxed fat, spurned with his hele."
[the 1611 version has it in more modern English as "Jesurun waxed fat, and kicked."]
It isn't until much later that 'wax' began to be used to refer to flowery and poetic speech or writing. This occurs in various phrases, like 'wax lyrical', 'wax poetic' and 'wax eloquent'. Of these, it is 'wax poetic' that is still most commonly used. 'Wax eloquent' was the first of this group of phrases to be used to describe someone becoming increasingly expansive and expressive in speech. That dates from the early 19th century, for example, this piece from Bracebridge Hall, a collection of essays and literary sketches by Washington Irving, 1824:
"The whole country is covered with manufacturing towns... a region of fire; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, vomiting forth flames and smoke." The squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes.
Ironically, far from 'waxing eloquent', Irving was suffering from writer's block in 1824, following a family bereavement, and struggled to finish enough essays as to be worth publishing.
'Waxing poetic' came next. The first example that I can find in print is in Sir Henry Morton Stanley’s How I Found Livingstone, 1872:
"One could almost wax poetic, but we will keep such ambitious ideas for a future day."
Stanley seems to have been an enthusiastic waxer. His book also contains "I waxed indignant", "Farquhar and Shaw waxed too wroth", "I accordingly waxed courageous" - all at a time when he reports that the sun "waxed hotter and hotter". It would be remiss to leave out a Marx Brothers gag at this point. Groucho Marx's role as Professor Quincy Adams Wagstaff in the 1932 film Horse Feathersyielded this gem:
Wagstaff's Receptionist: The Dean is furious! He's waxing wroth!
Prof. Wagstaff: Is Roth out there, too? Tell Roth to wax the Dean for awhile.
'Wax lyrical' followed in the early 20th century; for example, Gilbert Cannan's translation of Jean-Christophe in Paris, 1911:
"He had the genius of taste except at certain moments when the Massenet slumbering in the heart of every Frenchman awoke and waxed lyrical."
Time for me to wane lyrical and stop.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Who She Be?

As the world peers upon those who write poems, messages are being transmitted through time and space for personal and public sharing.  It is the reason a poet sits in some corner of the world while building framework to invoke thinking, feeling and perceptions.  So, this poet without formal training in poems or works of the great poets has created a method solely her own.  I hadn’t known myself before picking up the pen, so I find that I am writing to the past, present and future and with this scope my freedom ranges beyond traditions.  I tend to reverberate the sounds of the beat poets from the sixties and while my voice began in rhyme schemes, I quickly understood it was looked upon in distaste, for the simplistic style of a juvenile.  True, in a sense, the rhyme is childish but it also must not be dismissed for that childlike quality, as Dr. Seuss, in my opinion changed a generations collective thinking with the rhythmic flow of tightly structured rhymes.  He gave us tons of fun.  In essence, it ignited my ignition and cognition that was lost to me as a youth.

Upon trolling the internet for interesting answers and validations of my personal history, I had run across the visual world I forgot.  In many ways, the visual always translated into the poetical because I lacked vocals in speech and language.  I selected my thoughts into unknown corners and they remained there in the dark, waiting for reemergence.  I held my tongue over the years as my brain only processed pain.  I didn’t want it to slipped out pass my lips and overwhelm others.  So, instead of ignoring my anguish, I set it down to rest in the form of poetry.  Little pieces of my identity began to proceed.  The little chips or I should say clips of my creative endeavors have helped redefine what was mine to begin with, a persona or personality wanted by an unwarranted intruder.  Instead, I was brought back to great artists, who had chipped away at their toils, like Michelangelo, when he said, “Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it” and “The best artist has that thought alone Which is contained within the marble shell; The sculptor's hand can only break the spell To free the figures slumbering in the stone.”  Finally, “A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.”

As each flip of the virtual page, another idea builds upon the last and so I push forward to return the favor.  In short, quotes have been the dots of my connections to years gone by.  The stars aligned like constellations in my dark delusions, floating between points of light.  “It took me 40 years to find out that painting is not sculpture,” Paul Cezanne is quoted.  While I live by the motto of another great as Rembrandt van Rijn stated, “Practice what you know, and it will help to make clear what now you do not know.”  It is the visions of these luminous visionaries that I find inspiration and make what I can of what they have shown the world.  I am arrested by the fabulous words of many great thinkers and must leave this repose with quotes.  The site I favor has been Quote Garden.  

This has been a brief introduction of the person behind the words, a builder within strings of theories, where particles amass multitudes of ideas and compositions.  We are not wandering souls, for the moment a poet finds a pen or keyboard the thoughts of years gone meet the present and the spirit gathers them together for construction to last into the future.  Thirty seconds or thirty years, it took me forty years to begin.

The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.  ~William Faulkner

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.  ~Leonardo da Vinci

Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.  ~Amy Lowell

Everything in creation has its appointed painter or poet and remains in bondage like the princess in the fairy tale 'til its appropriate liberator comes to set it free.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.  ~T.S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent, 1919

Nothing exists except atoms and empty space: everything else is opinion. ~ Democritius 460-370 B.C.

Our sins are more easily remembered than our good deeds. ~ Democritius 460-370 B.C.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Social Class of Poverty

Classified: A Lonely Girl
The majority is the devoid in me as I know not what the equal of two and two might be as four.  The simple math obtained for the additional sums of familiarity in friends and family.  The numerical version of a negative sum as others have multiplied and duplicated the renewal of childhood ambitions.  I sat as if deaf and dumb but only muted like the volume on standstill.  There’s no equalization in the electrical impulses.  They are absent from the form of human contact where interactions are consistently rising and diving into the sub and conscious mental faculties of facilities within homes, establishments and social society.  

Reclassified: A Mute, not deaf, not dumb
One sentence depleted as the loss of empathy eluded the desiring ears that were jacked like a stereophonic device waiting for the plug.  The vibrations of song reverberated and reverted against the drum in horn like a cochlear implant.  The device reached the middle ear sinking into the inner soul as the music reflected growth.  Perception became visual as the notes rang like bells of truth within each sighted consideration.  It was an antennae with receiver to the skies aligned to Heaven’s gate the angels sat in view of the significant and sensitive.  

Reinstated: Life of Poverty
The ocular implication of depravity smashed the sounds of nature as the noise pollution intruded like a derelict out of control.  The cityscape revealed more tinks and clinks than the absolute rule of cash notes and registers.  The pleasantry of the poor reiterated the passionate drive to rise above the loud raucousness of social sins.  The guide along the path provided musing that was confusing rather than direct in simplifications.  Instead the complications of materialists and detriment deterred the life directive for living.  The push in poverty put me in line to wait for the grandiose signs of the Seventh Moon landing.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Vacuum of Space

Truth for a fascist resistance rests in temptation for distortion.  
The wanderer faces lies tangled in delineation.  
The derisive are divided and undecided on what is commonly known.  
The falsetto of fears resonates within the inner ear, 
as the inner soul tramples to obliterate the obvious for a sense of self.  

A fake ear relies on blind eyes to guide their blocked spirit from God.  
Thick skins are not the same as thick skulls, 
as the strong nullifies the factions and reactions of deception.  
The color of spirits live within varieties of colored skins.

The universality of combined ethnicity culminates 
the Earth’s beginnings from the concepts and precepts 
of the unknown but waiting on testimonials.  
Within passages and studies of priorities 
a generated society works towards the refusal of man-made concepts of design.  

The flash mob in false resistance mettle and melts the mind 
in cranial subjugation of beliefs to bend to the belonging of physicality.  
With God’s material essence intertwined with scientifical DNA, 
we are of particles in space and time.  
In the end rising from the ashes and falling back into dust, 
the spirit remains eternal in the vacuum of space.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Adjudication or Repudiation

The fantastical fanatical financiers of yesteryear yielding progression of potential people.  Government purpose is not to ensure the few but for the moral majority in the status of equality.

The signs of the dollar are signals of dopamine for the wanton exigency of paupers.   Treason in the trivial transaction of taxes, totality of government security for laissez faire is the for the succubus elite.

The existence of greed rather than generosity is a coup de grace of the intelligent but vital for the dissension in mortal human beings.  The request in redefined rules of engagement for the inclusion of grace, civility and continuity.  

Endowment left to disgrace in the dissatisfaction of freedom as the parsimonious dictate the covetousness of Godly gifts disguised in the right to consume.  The directive incorporated from the beginning of time to the end of it for true purpose embodied by a generation.  

The test of time for today in totalitarian authority for adulteration and adulation for material longing dismissing true belonging.  The hands of the greedy gather to grope closely to the gratifications of the Lord and placing a price tag on each and every notion that righteously leads others to the stars in the sky. .

The hand of God shall smite the sanctimonious sorrow of leans, loans and loss of gold like poisonous lead, beryllium or radium of the Earth.  Dried entities trying to absorb water and light to sustain substance but lacking efficiency, authenticity and actuality in matters of the character, caress and courage.  

The Heavens protect men and their spiritual alliances from sins of self centered and contrite sucklings.  The resolution of the living soul illuminates the tenderness and temperament of the past responding to the purpose of restitution.  

May it please the highest courts of universal advocates and couriers for the realignment of our individual selves within the blessings of a world atlas advantageous for all.  The self-reliant history of experience and divine friendships rely on worldly empiricism.